


DethMelons

by Merci



Category: Metalocalypse
Genre: Crack, Fruit, Gen, Humour, M/M, Male Bonding, Male Homosociality, Sex Toys, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-01-17
Updated: 2011-01-17
Packaged: 2017-10-16 04:29:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,342
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/168422
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Merci/pseuds/Merci
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Charles’ curiosity gets him into trouble when he follows a trail of watermelon seeds to the scene of a horrific pornographic crime in progress.</p>
            </blockquote>





	DethMelons

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Harmonde](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=Harmonde).



> **Disclaimer:** I am making no profit from this fanfiction. I do not own Charles, Knubbler, Nathan, Pickles, Skwisgaar, Toki, Murderface, the nameless klokateers, or anything relating to the awesome series Dethklok.
> 
> I wrote this with for a friend for Christmas She always inspires me to write crack, and so I tried to think of the crackiest thing I could. This is the result. Need I mention I actually saw this on a porno once? (a visit to pornotube.com’s gay section and a quick search for “watermelon” will yield you the video DK is watching in this very fic! Like magic! NSFW, of course!)
> 
> spank bank: collection of mental images that are drawn upon when engaging in self-love.
> 
> Lol, can you feel the Charles/Knubbler vibes that I’m channelling here? I can’t help it; they just seem like the type to get along, even though Knubbler is more in DK’s level than Charles is. He’s still assertive, and Charles really needs someone who can take care of himself.

**  
DethMelons   
**

Charles didn’t know what to think when he saw the watermelons scattered about the kitchen. He should have known better. He should have just walked away, but it was his managerial duty to prevent the end of the world, and he didn’t put it past Dethklok to bring about the apocalypse with fruit. He also couldn’t explain the bizarre holes that were carved into the round fruits – one each – and, his curiosity piqued, he wandered in search of Nathan and an explanation. On his way, he bumped into Dick Knubbler, who appeared very… agitated.

“Knubbler, what’s going on? I didn’t think the boys were recording anything today. Did, ah, Murderface call you to work on Planet Piss?” He took in Knubbler’s appearance, noting the disheveled hair and strange, red-look in his electric eyes. He’d never seen the normally-controlled producer so jumpy. A thought occurred to him and his curiosity for the watermelons turned to concern.

Knubbler pulled at his collar, adjusting the tailored Nehru jacket and shifted uncomfortably. “Charles, I don’t… H-how are you?”

Charles didn’t have time for pleasantries. “Do you know anything about the watermelons in the--?”

“Watermelons?” Knubbler said, his voice trembling as he seemed to crumble. He dramatically clutched at Charles’ lapels. “They’re just… I told them it was… I’m not _that_ kind of a producer!” He looked at Charles with what would have been teary eyes if he had any tear ducts. “I just came here to record Planet Piss, not… that!”

“What?” Charles asked, with mounting anxiety. “Something about the… watermelons, then?” Charles’ curiosity mounted, though, seeing the producer so upset over whatever it was left him feeling apprehensive about investigating alone. He looked at Knubbler, raising an eyebrow and hoping for more of an explanation.

Knubbler shook his head, as if he didn’t want to breathe a word of what he’d seen, and instead tilted his head in the direction of the common room. He absently smoothed out his suit jacket as he began to retreat away from Charles. “Good luck, Ofdensen…”

“Don’t leave just yet.” Charles touched Knubbler’s shoulder and pulled the smaller man back. “I may need you to, ah, help me.” He didn’t know what the producer had seen and he wouldn’t let him leave if it was something bad.

Knubbler’s feet scraped to a halt and his shoulders tensed. “That’s not my job, Charles. Why not get the klokateers to help you?” He struggled to pull away, but something had weakened him. It was as if he was haunted by waking nightmares of what he’d witnessed.

Charles tightened his grip and pulled Knubbler close. He wasn’t the comforting type, but he decided a soft touch would work better. He relaxed his fingers and gently rubbed the producer’s shoulder, hoping to calm him down. “Knubbler, I don’t know what’s going on, but I need your help. Please.” He adjusted his glasses, feeling his own tension mount as he watched Knubbler – the man who had seen Dethklok at their worst – acting skittish. “I’d rather get as few people involved in this. That and…” he took a deep breath. “I trust you to not get drawn into the boys’ misadventures.” He didn’t add that the klokateers were so expendable that bringing a contingent of them with him was just as good as Captain Kirk bringing an escort of redshirts into hostile territory. At the very least he could trust Knubbler to not get killed in whatever was going on. Charles brushed aside the thought that he wanted Knubbler there because he didn’t want to be alone. No, Charles was a big boy and wasn’t afraid of anything! He looked imploringly into Knubbler’s electric eyes, unable to read him through the changing colours, willing him to act as support in what was to come. After cleaning up all their other messes, Charles wondered if anything they did could surprise him.

He shouldn’t have wondered.

He should have known better.

He should have walked away the moment he’d stepped in the watermelon juice in the kitchen. A trail of sticky footprints would have been better than what was to come.

Charles’ feet ground to a halt just inside the doorway to the common room, short of kicking over a large pile of watermelons. Knubbler rubbed at his nose, sniffing furiously and seeming somewhat subdued as whatever drugs he’d snorted entered his bloodstream. He still covered his eyes as he walked, bumping into Charles just inside the common room.

Watermelons. Everywhere.

Charles looked about, surprised for the first time in a long time as he noted the various piles. Some had holes, some were untouched, and… some were in use.

Blinking a few times to make sure he was seeing what he thought he saw, Charles surveyed the horror that had touched Knubbler so profoundly. It was… so fucked up he was certain he wouldn’t sleep properly, either. Every member of Dethklok was present; none of them wore pants; and all of them clutched a watermelon that they furiously thrust onto their erect penises.

Pickles sat on the couch, his freckled thighs spread wide as he thrust the watermelon onto his rosy penis. His dreadlocks twitching with every movement and his cheeks were flushed rosy pink, his brows knit together in concentration. Nathan sat on the opposite side of the couch in a similar position, though, he’d carved a hand-hold into the fruit so he could manipulate it with one hand, while he played with his balls with the other. His head rested on the back of the couch and his black hair spilled out over the black leather, his black eyes staring blankly at the ceiling. Skwisgaar had set his watermelon on the floor and was fucking it missionary style, while Murderface was set up beside him, watching the guitar god and trying to ask him for tips as they fucked. He tried to match the Swede’s thrusting – just as fast as his guitar playing – but his stomach got in the way and the watermelon kept rolling out from underneath him. “Fuck, thish schtupid watermelon! I’m schtill on number one!”

“Done!” Nathan shouted as he spent himself into the fruit and tossed it into his used pile. “Someone get me another one and a Viagra! I’m going to win!”

A klokateer rushed to his side with one of the male enhancement pills and a fresh watermelon. He began to cut the hole into the fruit, following Nathan’s instructions to make the hole tighter this time. Another klokateer hovered around them all with a video camera, zooming in on the new watermelon descending on the frontman’s thick cock.

Charles’ eyes darted about, from watching Nathan, to Pickles, and then Murderface. Now he understood, but… he still didn’t understand what the hell he was seeing.

A mewl of release came from the computer desk where Toki sat with his own melon and a few hollowed-out squash. He tossed his melon to the side. “Gives to mes another watermelon!” he panted, massaging his dick in satisfaction. “Hey, I gots an ideas! Microwaves it!”

“Yeah, that’s an awesome idea! Do mine, too!” Nathan ripped the fruit from his dick and threw it at a nearby klokateer. Skwisgaar and Pickles did the same, but Murderface grunted in frustration and ignored them.

“Guys, thish ish schtupid!” he rolled into a sitting position and continued to jam the fruit onto his dick. “They don’t schay anything about microwaving it in the video! How do we know--?”

“Dones!” Toki interrupted him, coming again in record time, and throwing his backup squash into his “done” pile. “Oh, Skwisgaar. Is that all yous done? Boy, you gonna lose when we counts all mines!”

“Boys?” Charles decided to interrupt them during their pre-microwaved-watermelon break. “What are you doing?” He turned to the camera man. “Stop recording, erase the file.”

“No! Don’t!” Nathan barked, halting the poor, traumatized klokateer. “We need that for the porno!”

“Wait, porno?” Charles adjusted his glasses and looked sideways at Knubbler for an explanation.

“Hey, they were like this when I got here,” the skinny producer said, holding his hands up defensively. “They wanted me to direct them—”

“Yeah, you’re a producer, so you should be able to produce this!” Nathan interrupted before taking the freshly-microwaved watermelon from the klokateer and jamming it on his horn.

“No, I do sound, Nathan, and a producer doesn’t direct,” Knubbler growled at the frontman while trying to avoid looking at him. “I didn’t expect to see this when I woke up this morning!”

“Strangely enough, neither did I,” Charles interjected. “I’ll have to, ah, reassess all my contingency plans and broaden the sorts of disasters you boys could get into.”

“What disaster?” Pickled asked through clenched teeth as he spilled his load into the heated melon on his dick. “Oh, fuck, doods, we’re gonna be so rich after this!”

“But, we’s already rich,” Toki said as he spread his thighs. “I just don’t wants to lose!”

“Yeah, mes neither,” Skwisgaar huffed as he arched back, his body glistening with sweat and watermelon juice. A few seeds clung to his petite buttocks and he bit his lip as the camera zoomed in, capturing the near-bliss on his features while he struggled to climax into the fruit.

“Guys, this is… ridiculous. I don’t understand what it is you’re trying to do, but, ah… please stop?” Charles felt his strength falter as he watched his boys fuck like they’d never fucked before – and he’d seen them fuck in wild orgies. At least, at the orgies, they’d given themselves more rest time between orgasms. What they were doing looked too painful to be erotic. He looked to Knubbler, but the producer was more weakened from the spine-decalcifying sight. He followed Knubbler’s gaze to Murderface’s gesticulating buttocks, all hairy and pitted, rashed and dark along the crack. It was like a runway for a penis. Charles couldn’t look away even though he knew that boner-killing image would haunt his spank bank forever if he didn’t close his eyes. Wait—ah, too late. Charles threw up a little in his mouth.

“Don’t get sucked into it!” Knubbler covered Charles’ eyes and wrenched him to the side. “Can we go now? I don’t get paid enough for this.”

Charles had to agree there, but he paused before leaving as something on Toki’s computer screen caught his eye. As he drew closer he saw a video of a man fucking a watermelon. The image on the screen zoomed in on the actor’s ripped body as it thrust and fucked in the sterile, white room. He was on the floor beside a single couch, a watermelon propped beneath him and a circular plug resting a few feet away. It was the strangest thing Charles had seen, though he couldn’t get closer to see more than that. The Norwegian was fucking a squash with such reverent ferocity that Charles was afraid to interrupt him. “Hm,” he thought furiously for a way to ask the question, but no tactful, classy way came to mind. “You boys are, ah, fucking a watermelon to be like the guy in the movie?” The man on the screen was staring out into thin air as his body moved, mechanically lifting the melon up and down on his penis. He almost looked like he couldn’t believe he was doing it. Like he’d lost a bet and still hadn’t realized that the moist, juicy cavern that engulfed his wang was really a cold pink watermelon. Charles shuddered.

“Yeah, wes do a sequel to that movies,” Toki panted, nearing his umpteenth orgasm as he looked so earnestly into Charles’ eyes. “Whos can fucks the most!”

“My lords, we have depleted the haus’ watermelon reserves,” a klokateer announced as he carried in one last watermelon. “I’m afraid there are no more watermelons.”

“I-IN THE WORLD??!!” Nathan growled as hot spurts of come leaked out of the hole in his watermelon and he rolled his hips into the moist cavern.

“Yes, Nathan, the world!” Charles seized his opportunity to end the horror. “You boys had better decide who gets the last--”

“ME!” Nathan panted, downing a few viagara and making grabby hands at the klokateer.

“No, Nate’n. You’re not ready yet, let me!” Pickles lunged for the fruit, but tripped over his pants. “Fuckin’, this is why we shouldn’t wear pants, doods! We can’t move wit ‘em!”

Charles nudged his glasses down and massaged the bridge of his nose. It was stupid. Nothing that would cost them money, but stupid. He wondered if he could focus on anything else for the rest of the day. It was as if his mind had been damaged by what he’d seen.

“Me!” Murderface screamed as he hobbled towards the klokateer. “I need it more than anyone else!” His calloused penis flopped about underneath his belly and he kicked his pants off as he tried to beat everyone else to the bewildered klokateer.

“Take it, my lord!” The traumatized employee threw the fruit at Murderface and backed away like a terrified animal. He cast a remorseful glance to the cameraman before turning around and running like a bitch.

In one graceful movement Murderface caught the watermelon in one hand, tore a hole in it with his teeth, and jammed it onto his horn. “I’m not going to lose to you asscholes!”

“But Moidaface, yous already has!” Toki rushed over to him, his dick flopping about as he did.

“Yeahs, yous lose and now yous eat da watermelons, loser,” Skwisgaar rose to his feet and put his hands on his naked hips as he watched the bass player fuck like a broken machine.

The rest of the band finished their fruit and then counted their piles. Charles didn’t need an abacus to confirm that Murderface had, indeed, lost and would… “Wait, what does the loser do?” he looked at Knubbler for clarification. Maybe his “magic ears” had picked out a less-revolting punishment.

The slight producer only looked at him morosely. It was a look that said he might sue for emotional anguish if he didn’t kill himself first. Charles might have done the same if he wasn’t the one cutting the cheques.

“Da guys in da videos eats da watermelon!” Toki chimed in and rushed to his computer, his penis still hanging out of his pants. “Sees? I puts it through to da big screens.”

Before Charles could say anything, the pornography that had been confined to the small computer screen was suddenly larger than life and assaulting his fine sensibilities. The actor was on all fours leaning down like a dog and licking the semen out of the watermelon on the ground. Charles cursed his curiosity and wondered if he had enough brandy to take away his memories of the whole affair.

“Look at him, he’s like a god.” Nathan watched the screen with reverence.

“Yeah,” Pickles said as he lit a cigarette. “Ee left the cut-out piece on the ground as some… artistic expression thingie. A reminder of somethin’ and stuff. Minimalist or somethin’… I dunno. But now we’ll be rich!” He high-fived Nathan while Murderface cried on the floor.

The bassist was still fucking the watermelon with one hand and holding his face in the other.

Skwisgaar had a watermelon ready for him to eat, dripping with juice and jizz. “Dere is no points in coming in dat watermelon, Murderfaces. Yous still loses. Here, I want you to eat dis first. Tells me how it tastes.” He held out the fruit, nearly shoving it in his face.

The sullen bassist shot him a look that would have withered a lesser man, but the combination of the Swede’s apathy and the snot in Murderface’s moustache neutralized the effectiveness of the look. “I’m not eating your come melon!” he growled. “Y-you cheated! You had more practish. Cheater! You can’t fuck a ton of girlsch and then exchpescht a fair contescht!”

Toki rushed forward with a melon in one hand and a squash in the other. “Faces it, you lose, Moidaface. Eats it!” He threw the squash at the bassist.

Murderface ducked out of the way and the mutilated vegetable exploded against the floor, sending squash chunks, juice and come flying everywhere. He wasn’t so agile to avoid the watermelon.

Murderface whined menacingly as he wiped the juice from his face. The seeds clung to his hair and a glob of man-juice hovered under his eye. He glared at Toki and took one of Nathan’s melons to retaliate. He lobbed it forcefully, but the rhythm guitarist was too wily and simply stepped out of the way.

Nathan, not one to have one of his melons stolen, chucked one from his used pile at Murderface. It smacked into the back of his triangle-shaped hair, knocking him forward onto his face. “Don’t take my melons!” he growled before turning his warning gaze to the other members of the band.

Pickles and Skwisgaar exchanged a look before digging into their own piles of watermelons. Before long all of Dethklok was engaged in a brutal, naked, come-covered food fight.

Charles ducked out of the way and retreated to the safety of the hallway just as a few watermelons exploded against the wall beside him. Knubbler followed a few moments later, wiping juice and jizz from his plum-coloured jacket.

The two men exchanged silent looks, understanding seeping through their tired auras. Now Charles understood, and he wished he didn’t. He wished Knubbler hadn’t been sucked into the mess, either. Klokateers were expendable, but a skilled producer was hard to replace… and he’d grown to like Knubbler. He looked back to the room, but the remaining klokateers did not appear. Charles bowed his head and ticked them off in his head, making a mental note to send condolences to their families.

“You see what I was trying to escape? I put up with a lot from those boys, but now my eyes are scarred for life… AGAIN!” His eyes flashed read, but he couldn’t hold the emotion as his shoulders sagged and he turned his back. “It’s just so fucked up… I can’t get the image out of my head…”

Charles removed his glasses and tiredly rubbed his eyes. They might have been a little melodramatic about things, but he could admit he didn’t need to see Murderface covered in semen. “Yes, I’m sorry you had to see that, Dick. I’m going to try and kill enough brain cells to erase my memories of this incident. You’re… ah, welcome to join me. This is Mord Haus. We’ve got enough alcohol.”

“Throw in some coke and I’m there,” Knubbler said, his whole mood changing in an instant. “And have my jacket cleaned.”

Charles withdrew his cell phone from his pocket and made a quick phone call. “Cocaine, alcohol, and dry cleaning. My room. Ten minutes.” He ended the call and nodded at Knubbler, signalling he had everything under control once more. Together they walked towards his private room, the only room secured and guaranteed against watermelon porn or any members of Dethklok. Behind them, Nathan let out a battle cry, followed by the distinct splatter and smash of multiple watermelons hitting hard and fleshy things. Soon after, Skwisgaar yelled something in Swedish and Toki piped in with some Norwegian, signalling an attack of their own.

Charles moved quickly down the hall, turning corners and dragging Knubbler with him until the sounds of stupid were too faint to understand or hear properly. He began his internal fantasy that the violence happening behind him wasn’t anything he had to worry about. His fantasy always involved a responsible band that required no babysitting, and maybe even a peaceful night’s sleep. He looked to Knubbler who was more upbeat, but whose eyes still bore the hollow scars of what he’d witnessed. Well, for that night, at least, he could at least ensure a good sleep. Once the booze and coke was safely in his room, the locks would fall into place and his bedroom door wouldn’t open for anyone or anything. 


End file.
